


Sober

by shotgun



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5420759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgun/pseuds/shotgun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As things fall apart around Castiel Novak he turns to drugs.</p>
<p>Just a series of drabbles based on an rp. All inspired by songs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sober

Castiel's pov

When was the last time Castiel had been sober? If you asked him he'd probably stare at you blankly for a long while, laugh, and say, “I mean, I usually wake up sober”. Not that it ever lasted long. An hour if Michael got to him before he could smoke a joint or pop a pill, and his brother happened to be feeling chatty.   
The thing was, when he wasn't high he felt like shit. He felt the loss of his father. He felt the ache of Lucifer's pain. He felt the absence of Gabriel. And, above all, he felt the hole where Dean used to be. So yeah, he didn't like to be sober. The drugs, the alcohol, the sex, they numbed his pain. They made him feel good for the first time in ages.   
If you asked Castiel when he last felt happy without drugs he would laugh until he couldn't breathe. Laughing was easier than crying. He laughed a lot these days. (The answer would be the summer before high school, but he wouldn't tell you that)  
When was the last time Castiel had spent three nights in a row at home. If you asked, he would furrow his brow, try to remember, and then ask, “why the fuck should I go home?” because he wouldn't have an answer. He liked to bounce from house to house. He'd stay with Ruby, Meg, Crowley, or whoever he happened to be fucking that week. More often than not he was at Crowley's. It wasn't just a matter of convenience, though it could easily be construed that way, given he was Castiel's dealer. But he was also Castiel's best friend. He was the only one who saw any genuine emotion from Castiel anymore. Shortly before being begged for more drugs, of course.   
If you asked Castiel why he hated the silence he would call you a fucking idiot. The reality, though, was that he'd become a bit paranoid. If it was too quiet, if there was no one talking or moaning, no television, no music playing, they would know. They would know that Castiel had no idea how to be happy anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley’s POV

It was never supposed to be like this. When Crowley had met Castiel the poor boy had been in the bathroom having a nervous breakdown. Crowley had guided him out back, offered him a cigarette, let him talk, and then split a joint with him.   
Turned out his dad had left and one of his brothers had run away while the other had tried to kill himself. To top it off Castiel's “best friend” (fucking Dean Winchester, the arse) wasn't there enough to even know any of it had happened, too busy enjoying the sluts that went to this school. How the hell anyone could look at this angel and want anyone else Crowley had no fucking clue, especially when it was so painfully obvious that Castiel loved Dean.   
After that Crowley had taken it upon himself to look out for Castiel, to make sure that he wasn't having any more break downs in the bathroom. He'd made the boy a deal: if he always let him know something was wrong, he'd give him free weed. Sure, it was a rip off, but Castiel seemed to find it endearing, so whatever. Besides, it was mostly selfish. He took a quick liking to the way Castiel looked when he smoked, to those gorgeous blue eyes and the glaze that clouded them. More than that, he took a liking to the way Castiel leaned into him, resting on his shoulder. Sometimes he’d talk about Winchester when he did it, but Dean wasn't the one holding him, so what the fuck did he care? 

The first night that Castiel stayed the night with Crowley was the first time they kissed. They'd been smoking for an hour and were both incredibly high. Castiel lying on Crowley's bed, staring up at the ceiling, going on about Dean Winchester.   
“Lisa,” he huffed, “I bet she doesn't even know Sam's birthday.” Apparently he'd seen Dean kissing Lisa against his locker that day.   
Crowley combed his fingers through Castiel's hair, listening to him complain. The boy, for his part, was nuzzling the touch. He'd continued talking, but Crowley had zoned out, staring at Castiel instead. But when the next words came from the angel's lips, Crowley was at full attention.   
“What?” He asked, wanting to be sure he'd heard right.   
“We should kiss,” Castiel repeated, pushing himself up onto his elbows so that he could meet Crowley's eye. “He's kissing other people, and I've never been kissed. Why shouldn't I?”   
Crowley's breath caught in his throat as he stared at Castiel, heart pounding. “You're right,” he said quietly, “You deserve to be kissed.”  
That, it seemed, was all Castiel needed. He reached out to cup Crowley's cheek and closed his eyes, leaning in to press their lips together. It was short and chaste. Castiel's lips were chapped and he had cotton mouth, but it set a fire inside Crowley.   
Later that night Castiel asked to try something new, and thus they struck a new deal. One kiss equaled one Vicodin. He'd never meant for it to end up like this, but it was the downward spiral that lead to where Castiel was now, and he didn't know how to make it stop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg's pov

The first time Meg met Castiel he was high. Though, to be fair, he was pretty much high every time they hung out after that. She remembered one time he stayed the night (he'd only cuddle with her, said he couldn't take advantage of her, the dumbass gentleman). When she'd woken up the next morning he was sitting on the edge of her bed, trembling. She'd thought maybe he was crying at first. When she'd gently touched his shoulder he'd jumped and looked at her.   
His eyes were more clear than she'd ever seen them, his pupils weren't blown wide like she was used to.   
That was kind of when everything changed for her. Yeah, she’d wanted to jump his bones since the day they met, but she'd slowly been coming to like him as a person, and that look...fuck, he was beautiful.   
“I ran out of pills,” he whispered, voice shaky, “I don't know how the fuck I forgot to ask Crowley for more, but I'm out and I threw up.”  
Castiel was fucking sober. That was the difference. She frowned, fingers running through his hair. “Why don't I get you a glass of water?”   
“I don't want a fucking glass of water. I want my god damn pills,” Castiel snapped and immediately cringed. When he spoke again his voice was gentle. “I'm sorry, Meg. I just...I need my pills.”  
The girl nodded slowly. Castiel was always so sweet to her, something she was unused to. She didn't exactly have any fans. Hell, she didn't truly have many friends...or any other than Castiel. Maybe she wasn’t the easiest to like, but for some reason she would never understand Castiel saw past that.   
“Give me a minute,” she murmured and grabbed her phone, leaving the room.   
“What is it, whore?” Crowley answered a couple minutes later.   
“Get over here, dickhead,” she muttered, “Cas doesn't have any pills.”   
The relationship between Meg Masters and Anthony Crowley was...strange. Whore and dickhead were their regular names for each other. The only reason they spent time together was their mutual love for Castiel. One that she knew was unrequited for both of them. It didn't mean she'd give up. Stubbornness was a large trait of hers.   
There was silence for a minute and then Crowley spoke. “I'm on my way,” he told her, “Make him eat some crackers.” With that he hung up.   
Meg slipped her phone into the pocket of her pajama pants and hurried downstairs. Two minutes later she was back in the room with a sleeve of crackers and a glass of water. Castiel was curled in the fetal position, clutching his stomach, sweating. It took awhile, but she slowly got the crackers and waters down him, petting his sweat slicked hair. When Crowley got there he crushed a pill up, teaching Castiel how to snort it to get a faster and more intense high when he really needed it.   
That was the last time she'd seen him sober.


End file.
